All Life is Experiment
by Evgeniya
Summary: Some lighthearted fun between Bobby, Darien, and Ralph Waldo Emerson. Warning: spanking for fun, slash, and established relationships.
1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:** I promised someone I would write a fluffy, pointless slash story for Bobby/Darien. I messed that up by writing in first person (I really shouldn't experiment with writing :), so to make up for that I wrote two parts.

Really not written to be connected, but kinda, sort of, did.

* * *

**ALL LIFE IS EXPERIMENT**

by Evgeniya

Not all of us are fortunate enough to wake up with an armful Bobby Hobbes. All 5 foot 6 of him is enough to crush me when he isn't watching. Still hot and heavy and missing just a few more screws since last night. Like the paranoid freak he is, he sleeps with his arms tightly enclosed around me – as if I'd ever want to leave.

But for those of us who can resist the charms of my mediated friend, we are all still surrounded by another phenomenon. That's right. The physical world. In the case of last night, _very very_ physical. But when it comes to nature, well, Ralph Waldo Emerson wrote the book on that.

Dear Ralphie had a non-traditional approach when it came to nature. He believed that nature was all part of the divine. Kinda like Bobby calling me "_oh god!_" last night.

Those who don't know me and meet me for the first time sometimes use the word _extraordinary_ to describe what I do best. I am by no means extraordinary or divine. Hardly worthy of any notice, hence the invisibility. It's not a natural talent, so I am nowhere near worth the 13 million dollars that my colleagues constantly throw in my face.

But that gland shoved inside me sure is.

When Emerson said, "_all life is an experiment_," I can do no more than agree. I am the science experiment gone wrong that blows up the highschool cafeteria every time my eyes turn red. After prison, my whole life became an experiment. However, Emerson continued to urge that "_the more experiments you make the better_." There are times I feel I would betray the Agency to avoid being poked and prodded. But when Hobbes is the one doing the poking and the prodding, that's a whole other story.

"Hobbes!" Bobby suddenly shouts in my ear before I realize that he picked up his cellphone. Before that, I just assumed that the vibration underneath my back was some type of remaining afterglow from last night.

"Yeah," Bobby tosses me smirk then quirks an eyebrow at me. "I think I know where he might be."

It's hard to believe there are any secrets left in the office anymore, but I suppose most secrets were exposed because I poked my nose where it didn't belong. Fortunately, my entire body belongs with Bobby Hobbes and he is obsessively mistrustful enough to keep government agencies out of it.

For a second Bobby covers the mouthpiece and whispers to me, "You've been dialing 900 numbers again, buddy? The Keep says your phone is busy."

It's not busy. I nod towards the tangle mess of phone and cords on the floor. "It's off the hook."

"Why the hell is it off the hook?"

Because it's the only polite thing to do when your partner sleeps over. "So I can sleep in, dummy," I say casually and make my way to the shower.

By this time, Keep must have said something important because Hobbes grabs my wrist and yanks me back a step. It's inconsiderate as usual. Rough and hard and almost enough to strangle the ouroboros inked around my wrist, but unfortunately, that's never possible. Even worse, I now notice that there are barely two green segments left. The tattoo practically ticks with tension as each remaining piece threatens to darken, and that is something Bobby notices, too.

"Goddam it, Fawkes!"

I point my finger at him in mock seriousness. "It's your fault." He knows what happens to me in the heat of passion. All the things that he does to me. I climax and disappear and so does anything around me. That's a lot of quicksilver to dispense and while Bobby Hobbes may be compact, that still a great deal of muscle to cover.

Hobbes slaps his cellphone shut and stares at me with all his primitive animal instincts. It never takes a lot to anger him. I blame it on some type of side-effect of whatever drugs he's on.

"It's nine o'clock," he points out sternly.

"Is it?"

His eyes never leave me and I know that look. Bobby Hobbes and his schedule. It's almost enough to make me groan. Ready by seven and in the office by eight, then in front of the Official at nine. No one is more dedicated to his country and duty than Agent Hobbes. An unfortunate consequence of that is I'm now one of his duties. More unfortunately, I have to be ready by seven, too, since we share the same bed. Bobby has a way of imposing his neuroses on me, but I can resist in my own ways…

"Is that why the phone's off the hook?" he asks.

"Of course not!" I lie, but with a smile since there is a joy in interrupting Bobby's routine. His muscles usually spasm in a tirade as he grumbles and stomps around the room. I can't help it. It's fun to get him riled up. He points out his seniority, then I point out my security clearance. It's easy to get a reaction from Bobby. The Official and Eberts have learned to ignore my efforts, and sometimes I need a little fun in the office.

But in all honesty, I am tired of all the tests. Keeper's been experimenting with different doses of counteragents. Nothing seems to work. Every time an anecdote fails, I feel like I'm failing. Sometimes, I'd just like to forget that I'm some type of monster that needs to be controlled.

Of course, with some experimentation, I might learn that I like being controlled…

Bobby suddenly springs from the bed. He's wearing just his undershirt and boxers, but paranoia never did ensure modesty. The breath is knocked out of me as Bobby pins my wrist to my back and presses my face tight against the wall.

This. Is. Different.

Bobby has been known to refer to me as a punk, but this is the first time he actually physically treated me like one (with hardly any instigation on my part). Under any other circumstance, I would try to escape, but this is different because I'm just wearing a pair of sweats and Bobby is pressing against me half naked. However, he still crowds me hard against the wall and pulls my wrist tighter to my back. He is fully prepared for an escape attempt. There's just no such thing as trust anymore.

"We are going to do everything I say," Bobby rasps harshly against my back. Despite past experiences, he still thinks I'll respond to his slow, serious tone.

I suppose, in a way, I do because I can feel an erection stirring. Bobby's breath against my back is chilling. It has a bite colder than quicksilver. It makes me want to go limp and see just what Bobby Hobbes would do with my weak, helpless body.

Instead, I answer him just as slowly. "And what if I don't want to?"

But that is not an option. Please say it's not an option! This is the one occasion where I'm fully prepared to take orders from Agent Robert Hobbes.

However, he doesn't answer. My voice probably betrayed me. It was hoarse with emotion and need and urgency, but goddamn it. Bobby started this and I need to see where this is going!

Finally, Bobby shifts and I gasp at the sudden movement. He presses his chest tighter to my back and his hands, still so slow, slide beneath the waistband of my sweats. Crap. Those are determined, strong hands are deliberate when Bobby roughly jerks my pants down below my thighs. It seems so wrong. Hobbes never engages in morning foreplay on a workday. Especially when late. Believe me - I've tried my best stuff.

Luckily, my sweats don't stop at my thighs. They have a mind of their own and fall onto the floor. My backside is now exposed, and the cool morning air suddenly makes me aware that I'm completely vulnerable to Agent Hobbes and his madness and all that fucked up shit that isn't covered by prescription medication.

For some cruel reason, Bobby pulls away and denies me the warmth of his body. Bastard. I don't know what his plan is, but it's working. Ralph Waldo Emerson lost his mind later in life, but I am losing mine now. All I want is to feel Bobby Hobbes rub against me. Even brush against me. My body is so desperate for attention, I would settle for just his breath against my back again.

But I get something even better. Bobby's hand returns to my back. Not as hard as it was, but I certainly won't go anywhere now.

He keeps one hand firmly placed at the small of my back. I can feel his right arm pull away, but I was not expecting what happened next.

SWAT.

Without his hand to keep me up, I'd probably collapse to the floor. That loud swat left an unexpected tingle on my backside and pressed my now raging erection hard into the wall. I think he's giving me a moment to recover, but I don't want to recover from that wonderful heat that is now ripping through my body.

Bobby is still again and the apartment is completely silent. He's taking a moment to gauge my reaction. I'm definitely not going to protest now, but I can't exactly cheer him on either. If I open my mouth, I'd probably squeak with giddiness and that's not sexy for anyone.

Luckily, I can rely on my breathing. I'm panting like a mad man now and Bobby gets the hint. His right hand continues its violent journey along my backside. He proceeds to strike my disobedient backside with rapid, angry swats. Since the quicksilver gland makes me cold, I must admit, this is a clever way to return the heat to my body.

But Bobby is the one with the excellent view. I can't see it, but I can already feel it. Red, angry handprints darkening my backside as I quiver and shudder. My involuntary actions of being controlled are no doubt fueling his ego. The muscles in my back flex and my hips twist ever so slightly as the sting builds up. I press myself closer to the wall, needing more contact than what Bobby is allowing. I instantly understand why Bobby holds me so tight in bed. I'm constantly invisible, but he still needs to feel the size and shape of me. The quicksilver keeps me cold and hidden, but my form and shape remains the same.

I just know Bobby is enjoying the sight. My rebellious backside raw and red. Pained, but shamelessly grinding myself against the wall, (a sight I'm sure he fantasized about on many occasions). I desperately yearn for Bobby's touch, but I know better than to ask.

I'm breathless before it's even over. Nothing else can get through my mind because Bobby Hobbes is spanking my ass. Bobby Hobbes is spankin—

Wait. What?

"Hobbes… Why the fuck did you stop?" That's probably the worst game he could be playing right now.

"You're a little quicksilver happy there, my friend," he informs me with a slight edge to his voice. "Believe me, partner, I'd like to see where this goes. But at the same time, I'd hate to see what you'd do to me when you're all crazy eyed."

My fingers feel numb so I instantly look at my hands. Yep. That damned gland has a mind of its own. I wiggle my fingers that are no longer there. That usually wasn't a problem. Hobbesy loved my invisible hands. Loved what I could do with them. Guess where I was going to do with them to. But my tattoo is red and growing redder by the minute. I keep telling Hobbes that his neurotic need for control would push me over the edge one day, and this impromptu, yet very well-received spanking nearly made me go quicksilver mad. Right now, we have no other choice but to find Keep and refuel.

Unless, of course, I find a way to postpone the gland from secreting…

"You're a bad influence, Bobby Hobbes," I laugh breathlessly. Like I said, Bobby knows what he does to me. He tickles the neural instincts of my gland.

"We gotta get out of here," he demands quickly as he throws my jeans at my face. "Shoot some of that counteragent in your veins."

"Wait a minute, wait a minute," I try to calm him with complete innocence. "We should at least shower first."

Bobby pauses, pants halfway up his thighs. He can always see right through my schemes. "Yeah? You sure you ain't just after some shower sex?"

I shrug. I can't be guilty if I don't admit to it. However, I do have science on my side. "If the water's hot enough, I can't turn invisible."

"Oh, yeah?" His eyebrow rises in suspicion. Not quite doubtful, but hopeful. "How so?"

"The quicksilver is cold. It can't activate if the temperature is just right." That sounded accurate enough. Right? The gland is like a separate entity and right now, I can feel it calling out for a hot shower.

But Bobby's eyebrow was still raised. "You ever test that theory?"

"Bobby, Bobby!" I groan. "I'm a human guinea pig! I can't save all the fun stuff for Claire. I gotta save some experiments for my Hobbesy Wobbesy."

Still, that eyebrow refused to drop. "If we're late again, I'm smacking your ass for real."

Ordinarily, I could do without the threats. I could also do without the experiments.

But on days like these, trial and error might as well be mind-blowing and orgasmic.


	2. Chapter 2

**PART TWO**

Hobbes and I spend most of our time at my apartment. There is no real reason for it. It just worked out that way, but it certainly makes it easier to care for my adopted lab rat.

While I haven't adopted Hobbes in the same way, I have adapted to some of his quirks. The big one is the rustling in the night. I suppose it's some strange method of his to deal with the occasional insomnia. Sometimes he stretches his arm out in front of him and waves it through the air. Once and awhile, he punches nothing. I thought it was odd at first because he can clearly see me sleeping in the bed. However, I suppose it's reasonable thinking because we have encountered two invisible men before and one invisible woman. I'd call him paranoid, but if anything is going invisible, then they're usually looking for me.

However, when he's not looking for invisible men or hidden bugs and microphones, Bobby Hobbes is just plain ol' snooping. And it seems to be activity not limited to the night…

"Hey, hey, hey," Bobby suddenly beams with amusement. "What's this?" he asks and when I look up, he has this ridiculous smirk on his face. He picks up the magazine before I even have the chance to stop him.

"_Sex and the Single Sasquatch_?" he laughs and I just cringe slightly then decide to prepare myself for the upcoming ridicule. Hell, I deserve it for buying such filth. "Darien… Buddy… You've been holding out on me!"

Bobby tears his eyes away from the tabloid and looks directly at me. He's still grinning like he skipped his medication and his eyes are gleaming with all the potential digs he wants to make, but feels too guilty to jump too soon because it's just too damn easy.

"Down, Cujo," I try to dismiss casually. Throw him off the scent by acting nonchalant. "It's not what you think. I thought about making… a… sort of… scrapbook."

"Okay," Bobby frowns then looks back down at the tabloid. "It went from cute to being fucked up."

I roll my eyes and groan. "No! Turn to page five."

Page five. There is no page greater than page five. It has the most interesting article. One entitled _Invisible Man Sighting_. All sides become my best side when I quicksilver, so I can't complain. Unfortunately, I don't think Bobby appreciates the irony of the heading as much as I do.

"What the hell is wrong with you?"

I can't blame Bobby for not understanding. I'm a pet project for Fish & Game. No one is allowed to know about me. Unfortunately, that is not always possible when we work on a high profile case and I cannot deny that I enjoy the credit, no matter how vague it might be.

Of course, Bobby can be a superficial asshole sometimes. I think I might know what he needs to hear…

"You're there, too." I tap the picture right below the title. The back of Bobby's beautiful bald head is gleaming. It may just be a scandal sheet, but it could also be the recognition he's been looking for.

"Are you kidding me?" Bobby huffs. "Is that supposed to be me?"

I snatch the tabloid away and look at the photo again. "Who else could it be? I'd recognized that bumpy head anywhere."

"Bumpy?"

"Yeah. I bet it started at birth when the doctor dropped you on your head. Not to mention the countless criminals that have knocked you senseless. Your head is like a road map of contusions." Enough of the teasing. It's time to end on a high note. "Don't worry. They're battle wounds… and if I might add… kinda sexy."

Bobby completely ignores the praise and seizes the magazine away from me; practically rips the paper in the process. "I am not _that_ bald."

Oh. It appears I hit a sensitive spot. So, I smile. "Maturity is something I look for in a man."

Bobby cocks an eyebrow at me. "You looking at other men?"

"No," I deject quickly since I don't actually want to bruise Bobby's ego. "You're just mad they got an action shot of me."

_Action shot_. That's laughable. That is me in action alright; however, no one would ever know it.

Anyways, it seems to working because Bobby just snorts. "_Action shot_." Then he huffs. "Wait till you see ol' Bobby Hobbes in action, kid."

Uh, oh. Something's changed because Bobby has latched onto my wrist and is pulling me closer.

I don't know what is happening, so I pull my wrist back. "Hobbes," I begin. "Maybe you should share with the rest of the class."

He still hasn't let go of my wrist as he answers. "Not for nothing, Darien, but you just compromised your safety and the security of the agency."

Well, thanks for the info, Bobby, but that's nothing new.

"You know better than to leave a trail," Bobby continues. It sounds procedural, but he has, as Bobby would put it, _a mad smile on his face_. It lets me know that something's not quite right. "I can't let you get away without a spanking."

My mouth just drops.

Oh. My. God.

Hobbes remembers.

Hobbes knows.

Well, of course he knows! He was there! He stood right behind me as I dry humped the wall and he swatted my ass. We enjoyed a morning full of shower sex, then another round that night after we finished a case. It was the hottest sex ever, but we never brought up the spanking again.

Until now.

And just like Bobby, he had to be embarrassingly direct and accurate. I have to fight against the urge to cover my face and groan. Or even worse – cringe. I manage not to, but I know I'm blushing redder than Hobbes' sunburnt head in that tabloid photo.

I succeed at looking at Bobby's eyes and that twinkle is still there. That asshole. He's obviously enjoying my discomfort because he knows I want it. Crap. He's offering it and I'm still embarrassed to take it. I know it seems silly, but I have to ask myself:_ What would Ralph Waldo Emerson do?_ Well, I guess I should quote some famous words here. He would say "_Don't be too timid and squeamish about your actions_."

'Nuff said.

I spring from the bed like a Jack-in-the-box. Perfectly analogy, because I'm a willing toy for Bobby Hobbes to play with. My hands are at my fly, frantically trying to unfasten my jeans.

Maybe I'm not fast enough. Maybe I'm too excited to work the buttons correctly. Either way, Bobby now takes over and is yanking the jeans away from me.

I have no idea if I threw myself over Bobby's thighs or if he jerked me there. All I know is that he's sitting on the edge of the mattress, still wearing his business suit, and I'm stretched over his lap with my pants down around my ankles. My chest is basically supported on the mattress. Bobby yanks me further across his knees. My toes are still touching the ground, but I cannot believe I am over Hobbes' knees again.

His strong arm is wrapped around my waist to keep me in place. I no doubt need the support. I've never felt so lanky before in my life.

However, height doesn't matter. Bobby uses all his strength to spank my perfectly placed ass. I flinch at the first contact. It stings, it burns, and I'm pressing my growing erection against Bobby's thigh.

Bobby's hand lands again. It's not just the jolt of pain that excites me, but the sound of his hand against my bare ass, too. The initials swats nip me at first. Too soon though, my entire backside is heated and tingly.

Every swat drives me closer to Bobby's thighs. There is the delicious grind against him, then the slid back. Pretty soon, I feel his erection rub again mine. Hard and stiff. Bobby's swats become more sporadic and urgent.

I love what he is doing to me, so I let out an eager groan. Luckily, I hear him groan back and his swats become more forceful and feverish.

My punished flesh is hot, but it manages to warm my entire body. It especially heats up my erection, which is now almost painful against Bobby's.

Still, Bobby doesn't waver. He spanks just as harshly as he began. Pretty soon, he murmurs something gruff about insolence and disobedience and discipline.

Oh, god. It is so cliché, I could groan. But since I am so turned on, it would make me a hypocrite. I continue my persistent grinding against his thigh as Bobby continues to land blow after blow on my punished ass. The playful scolding only urged my drive against Bobby.

Suddenly, I can't take it any longer. I'm about to explode, but I don't want this to be over so soon. Bobby, like the perfect partner he is, senses my need and immediately stops the spanking.

He practically throws me face first onto the mattress. I land on my stomach and it feels like ages before Bobby touches me again. I feel his tongue at my shoulder. His groin presses against my backside and I flinch as he touches my sore skin. However, the pain is good. It reminds me that I'm Bobby's and it makes my erection jump.

I am so distracted by the sensation that I didn't even realize that Bobby grabbed the lube. When he enters me, he is slick and reckless and pushing against me with all his might.

It feels good to have Bobby inside me. He's thick and long and fills that void the gland never managed to take up. He rams into me repeatedly, knocking that special spot that always makes me spasm.

It's perfect like this. Bobby's swollen cock always ripples through me. It's so perfect, that I willingly lose control.

"Hold on there, partner," Bobby reminds me.

It's not as easy as said. I'm not aware when my gland acts up. Bobby, however, is. He doesn't need to moderate my tattoo. He knows from instincts. He thrusts inside me slower, but still rough. It's almost as if he counts the seconds between thrusts. Either way, he presses against me in the right direction. My legs grow taut and I shudder against the mattress and come.

Bobby still moves within me. With one last push, I feel him tighten then explode inside me. It takes a few seconds for him to collapse onto my back. But when he does, it's perfect and natural. He rests on top of me as fondly as he always does. It's as if that kinky foreplay worked its way into our lives seamlessly. Sex was great before, but as Emerson said "_nothing is beautiful alone_."

With Bobby panting against my back, it makes me feel obligated to set one thing straight.

"You know," I pant back. "We have no pictures of us together."

Bobby puffs and wheezes and still feels up my ass. "So? Ya wanna make a sex tape now?"

_Sex tape_. Now there's an idea. Bobby is already high strung about his taped therapy sessions, so there's an added bother we don't need.

"That tabloid," I say, still gasping for air and trying to get the conversation back on track. "I know I'm invisible, but it's the only photo I have of the two of us."

Bobby is silent for a moment before he realizes. "You started a scrapbook of us?"

"Yeah, Bobby." That's all that really matters. "Every step of the way."

I feel his body press harder against me. Practically a hug. He can play up that Brooklyn attitude as much he wants, but he is still ultimately my sentimental Hobbsey.


End file.
